Pen Name
by Diporae
Summary: Michelangelo has been creating art his whole life, but now that he wants to sell it he finds himself struggling to find the perfect pen name. Rated for language (just in case).


**A/N I do not own TMNT but I am forever grateful for their existence!**

Pen Name

Michelangelo sat in his room surrounded by a vortex of art. Charcoals, acrylics, pencils, water-colours, basically every artist medium he could dig up from the trash contributed to the chaos. His shell was to the wall, his knees bent, and a sketchbook opened to a crisp, clean white page was the eye to storm. For despite a freshly sharpened pencil in his hand, Michelangelo was not here to draw. He was here to write. More specifically, he was here to create the perfect pen name.

After Michelangelo's last buying spree (a limited edition Justice Force issue #353) Donatello had cut his impulsive brother off. The orange-clad turtle thought his life was over until said brother kindly pointed out that Michelangelo could always make his own money to support his superfluous lifestyle. It only took a few moments of thought before the creative young turtle knew exactly how he could increase his spending funds. With a little pleading accompanied by the youngest turtle's patented doe-eyes, Donatello finally agreed to assist his brother in his business venture. The tech-savy turtle would set up Michelangelo on Amazon and help with any other logistics. Meanwhile Michelangelo would supply the merchandise: his art.

His brothers had always told Michelangelo that he brimmed with artistic talent and although this was the one area the typically boastful turtle remained shy, he was secretly very proud of his creative endeavours. It was a skill he constantly tried to perfect. He wanted to do more than create something merely pleasing to the eye. When others saw his art he wanted them to feel the emotions he felt when he made it. He wanted his love, his tears, his happiness, his anger, and more to be embodied in his work. To Michelangelo, true art was more than seeing: it was a profound visceral feeling that invoked all the senses to the surface. In every piece he created, he strove for a similar reaction in the audience. They didn't have to have the same feelings, but he wanted them to at least feel as intensely as he did.

He knew he had managed to create many pieces that touched his family in such a way. Donatello, April, and Casey were the easiest to reach. When they first looked at a new piece, their eyes would glaze over and Michelangelo thrived on their reactions. He was addicted to how a piece's joy would cause Donatello's mouth to quirk, how a piece's love would increase Casey's breathing, and how of course how a piece's remorse would cause April to reach for her neck. Master Splinter and Leonardo were less obvious and harder to reach, but Michelangelo had done it numerous times. His Father would twitch his tail when a piece disturbed and Leonardo would always unfold his arms when a piece took his breath away.

Michelangelo's greatest challenge lay in touching the heart of his brother, Raphael. This brother usually paid little attention to his youngest brother's efforts. Michelangelo only remembered one sole occasion in which he had evoked a true response from his older brother. Mere words could not do Raphael's reaction justice and its kind had not been seen or heard from since. It was a true diamond in the rough. Michelangelo still did not fully understand why that particular piece had the impact it did. He had drawn it when he was only six and his inexperience was evident. Yet that picture, that one child's drawing had managed to release such a raw torrent of emotion that it was now what Michelangelo viewed as his ultimate success. No other piece had ever invoked such a wide range of emotions in his other family members. Yes, Raphael was prone to angry outbursts, but that piece did not invoke only anger. Michelangelo had seen so many emotions that it wasn't until years later, after pondering the memory for the umpteenth time, that he finally thought he could distinguish if not identify them all. Before Raphael's typical superficial anger blocked them out, there was a mixture of longing, sorrow, loss, rejection, fear, repulsion, frustration, envy, reluctance, helplessness, and even shame. Yet, it wasn't those emotions in Raphael's eyes that had so deeply struck Michelangelo's core. It was the ever so brief outpouring of awe, excitement, fascination, joy, hope, and even love that still sent Michelangelo reeling when he thought of their gravity. It was then Michelangelo knew without a doubt that Raphael was the brother who not just felt more powerfully than the others, but also possessed the full spectrum of emotions. He could feel what no one else could and Michelangelo could not help but wonder if that was the reason his brother locked away his emotions. If that was why since that day, that no creation of his had even remotely penetrated Raphael's armor.

That did not stop Michelangelo. Little did this sai-wielding brother know, but every piece of art Michelangelo ever made was inspired by Raphael. He was Michelangelo's hero and unbeknownst to Raphael, the young turtle had made thousands of pieces depicting his inspiration. Even if his brother refused to blatantly show his light to the world, Michelangelo knew it was there. He knew the heart his brother possessed and only hoped that one day Raphael would no longer be afraid of showing it to the world. Until that happened, Michelangelo was determined to release pieces of his brother's heart through his art.

There was only one problem: Ever since the day Raphael saw that drawing, Michelangelo could no longer show his brother these particular creations. Raphael had forbidden it. After releasing that flood of emotions, it was if Raphael suddenly realized the power that lay in his baby brother's art. It had the power to strip him raw and naked in front of the world and so he automatically took the defensive. Never again was Michelangelo to depict Raphael in his creations. Without even knowing it, Raphael had told Michelangelo that he was no longer to be his muse, but inspiration is not so easily stopped. You can just as easily summon inspiration as you can reject it. So, in the dark of night, away from his brother's eyes, Michelangelo secretly continued his art fueled by the same inspiration. Only Leonardo knew the extent of his obsession. For it was his eldest brother who would often be awake in the middle of the night, and would wander into Michelangelo's room and watch him create. There was never judgement. Leonardo knew the purity behind his youngest brother's intentions and Michelangelo suspected Leonardo also knew of the heart Raphael hid.

Michelangelo did have plenty of other pieces that didn't have the red-clad turtle in them, and the young turtle challenged himself to evoke that deep visceral reaction in every piece he made. He knew he would never progress in his art if he didn't experiment with other subjects, and he also knew he needed drawing as much as he needed food and water. He could not help but create in front of Raphael. His brother would have become suspicious if Michelangelo did anything otherwise, and so whenever his older brother was around, he vigilantly censured the subject of his art. He was determined to never allow Raphael to know the nature of Michelangelo's muse.

Now, after years of hording his non-Raphael themed art and with the help of Donatello, Michelangelo was on the precipice of reaching a new audience: the users of Amazon. Everything was set to get production rolling and start posting pieces for sale. All the youngest turtle needed now was a pen name. Donatello had agreed to his brother's artistic business venture on a few conditions. He reminded Michelangelo that their family could never risk being discovered even if it meant more money in the household. They had many enemies and had to be constantly alert. At first the young turtle thought his brilliant brother was going to back out, but Donatello assured Michelangelo that if they took appropriate precautions they would be safe. There were two rules in particular that were solely Michelangelo's responsibility. First, the turtle had to sign all his work with a pen name and second, none of his art's content could contain any potential links to the artist's identity. That meant no mutant turtles, no giant rats, no sewers, no ninja stuff, and so on and so forth. Donatello would ensure this was followed by being the one who would package the art once an order had been place. Tonight, the eve of his artistic debut, Michelangelo had dug out the best of his Donatello-approved pieces and was frowning blankly at the white paper that lay before him. He had no clue as to what his pen name should be.

Michelangelo rubbed his forehead and groaned aloud in frustration, "I got nothing!"

He started when he heard a snicker from the doorway. He looked up to see Raphael leaning in the door frame, arms crossed against his plastron. Michelangelo was a little surprised to see him at such a late hour, but he had left his door open so he hadn't pulled out anything he wasn't comfortable with his brother seeing. Still, he was in no mood for his brother's ribbing, "What Raph?"

Raphael surveyed the room's chaos and was surprisingly gentle when he responded, "You want some company?"

The young turtle was a little surprised and touched at his brother's courtesy. Despite his earlier reservations at his brother's presence he grunted, "Sure, whatever just don't step on anything."

Raphael raised his eye ridges as he saw that the path to the bed was littered with art, but when he spied several scrunched up balls of paper at his brother's feet he refrained from comment. Instead he gingerly made his way to the only patch of bed that didn't have paper on it. The older brother was quiet for a moment, obviously expecting his usually talkative brother to say something. Instead Michelangelo continued to look dejectedly at his blank sketchbook. "You having artist's block or something?"

Michelangelo glanced up, only Donatello and he knew of his upcoming Amazon launch and he wanted to keep it that way. "You could say that. I guess my brain's just empty."

Raphael quipped trying to cheer his brother up, "That's what I've been saying for years…"

When Michelangelo didn't respond with his typical banter Raphael turned serious. He frowned and seemed to think a moment before responding, "You know in all the years I've known you I don't think I've ever seen you like this. You lose your muse or something?"

Raphael was trying his best and obviously had no idea how much that comment pained his young brother. Michelangelo just continued to stare determinedly at the blank paper urging himself not to cry. Raphael picked up on the tension in his little brother and a brief look of pain went through his amber eyes. He had rarely seen his brother look so depressed and he could not help but feel a little disturbed by it. Raphael got up and carefully made his way over to his brother. He gently shifted the papers to make a space on the floor where he sat down. He then put an arm around his baby brother. "You want to talk about it?"

Michelangelo wanted so badly to ask about that picture from long ago, but he refused. It was so rare for Raphael to act this way and Michelangelo refused to ruin this moment of brotherly affection. Besides he had chosen to carry this burden and that was not his brother's fault. The two turtles sat in companionable silence for a while and finally a question slid into Michelangelo's mind, "What inspires you Raph?"

His brother rubbed his forehead in thought, "Me? I don't know I guess I never really thought about it."

Michelangelo mentally reprimanded himself. It had been a stupid question. Even if Raphael had some hidden inspiration there was no way his brother would ever share it, but then Michelangelo heard his brother begin speaking again, "Inspiration's a funny thing you know. Remember when Don was in that phase when he had to know the origin of every damn word in the dictionary? For some reason of all the garbage he sprouted then I remember when he talked about inspiration. He said that the "spire" part of inspire in Latin meant to breathe. So when you look at it that way when you are inspired you are literally breathing in something. He said people actually thought you could even breathe God right into your soul. Weird huh? I always thought of religion and God as something you did or others made you do or like getting dumped in water. I never thought about it as actually breathing something like that in."

Michelangelo could not help but look at his brother in disbelief as this one-sided conversation continued. Raphael _never_ spoke this much about _anything_. It was as if his younger brother's silence had probed him to fill in the emptiness that Michelangelo was usually desperately trying to fill. Yet, here was Raphael filling the room with his presence with apparently next-to-no effort while talking about theology! Raphael glanced to see his brother gawking at him and abruptly the moment was over and the anger flooded back, "Whatever. It's a bunch of horseshit anyway. Who ever heard of breathing in an angel?"

And just like that it struck Michelangelo as he watched his brother depart. He could practically hear his thoughts buzzing, "_Inspire…. Inspirare… Breathing in an angel…. Maybe not any angel… It does keep the flare of my own name… And subtle enough that no one would connect it to us… And Raph will never see it… That's it!"_

Michelangelo had his name, and in his ecstasy he almost didn't call his brother back in time, "Raphael, wait!"

He had almost refrained from using his elder brother's full name, but the magnitude of his revelation forced the last syllables out. Raphael turned, still looking pissed. "What?"

Michelangelo smiled, "You totally just solved my problem bro!"

Raphael looked dubiously at his brother, "You know you shouldn't lie Mikey."

Michelangelo shook his head, "It's true Raph! You seriously helped! You solved in two minutes what I've been trying to figure out for two hours! Thank-you!"

Finally a hint of a smile touched Raphael's lips. He was still surprised that he had somehow managed to solve his brother's dilemma by rambling, but he was secretly proud of this success. He waved at Michelangelo and departed, "Whatever you say Mike. I'm going to hit the hay."

After his brother left, Michelangelo wrote down on the paper: _Archangelus Spirare_. He would be the first to admit his Latin wasn't the best, but he knew that it roughly translated to: Archangel's Breath. There was only one archangel who resonated with him. A brother who shared the spirit of his namesake. Michelangelo's pen name would be a tribute to the source of his inspiration. After all these years it had never changed and he knew it never would.

**A/N Some of you may be wondering about the drawing Michelangelo did as a child. The story behind it can be found in my story Fear. **


End file.
